Conflicted
by Stargazer Nataku
Summary: Boromir's 1st person perspective of Amon Hen. Companion to 'Impacted'. Updated with some minor fixes 8/2008.


_**Conflicted**_

_**By**_

_**Stargazer Nataku**_

--Thud--

Pain. Surprise. These feelings overcome all else, as I feel myself faltering, falling to my knees. The arrow has struck my left shoulder, driving deep into flesh and muscle. It is a deep physical pain, a pain to match my mental anguish. I can only think of my failure, the shocked look on Frodo's face as I attacked him to try to take the Ring. I did not see. I did not understand. The ground is solid beneath my knees, as my gaze goes upward falls upon Merry and Pippin, who have frozen in their attack and are staring at me with wide, horrified eyes.

No.

No. I cannot fail them. I will not fail them. Not like I failed Frodo. Not while I still have strength left in my body. This pain is nothing, this pain must be overcome for the sake of the hobbits I have grown to love. New determination swells up in me, and I cry out in pain as I grip my sword more tightly in my hand and launch myself to my feet, battling a wave of new attackers. One more, then two fall before my sword. Behind me, Merry and Pippin are once again attacking the foul creatures swarming towards us, and with a swell of pride I spin to see the next attacker…

--Thud--

The second arrow strikes my abdomen, and the pain is intense. A second time I fall, hearing ragged gasps coming from my own mouth as I struggle to breathe, to fight the pain. My gaze again goes upward. Strange, to see the hobbits looking down at me. How different everything seems from this position…from their height…

No. I must concentrate. If my hobbits are going to survive this, I must. Even though every nerve in my body is on fire, wracked with pain…it no longer matters. I cannot fail them; I cannot allow them to be killed by these filthy orcs. I rise again, though I know that it shall be my last attempt. My strength is fading too rapidly for me to be of much use. But if I can hold out, if I can strike out one last time, it may be enough. Surely the others have heard my horn, though I no longer have the strength to blow it again, and they will come. They will save Merry and Pippin, even after my strength is gone. And maybe, just maybe, they can save me.

--Thud--

Pain. More intense than any I have ever before known, except for the agony in my heart. With this last blow, every ounce of strength I have is gone. With a finality that tears at my heart, I know. It is over. I will never rise again.

From behind me I dimly hear a cry. Merry and Pippin, brandishing their swords, charge the orcs, and I force myself to watch, to see their deaths as surely as I can now see my own, for it only comes from my own failure.

Yet the orcs do not kill them. They rip away their swords, tossing the weapons aside, and hold my hobbits tightly, lifting them and carrying them away. Not dead. Taken. My heart cries out to them, even as they cry out vocally to me, reaching back, the grief and terror easily read in their eyes. Taken, to what end I shall never know, though I know it will not be easy or quick. I shall die knowing that I have failed them, knowing that I could not save them from torture and death.

Now, booted feet stamp rhythmically around me; the orcs pass me by. They know it is over, that I can no longer harm them. Bent over in agony, my breath comes in short gasps as I fight against the pain and the grief. I cannot tell which is stronger.

The orcs are gone. All but one. He stands before me, and I force myself to look up from his booted feet, past the bow he wields to his grotesque face, which is smiling in anticipation as he notches another arrow. I steel myself and force myself to not look away, to try to regain some of the honor that I have always cherished above nearly anything else. I will meet my death as not only a man, but a man of Gondor, and son of her Steward.

The creaking of his bow is loud in my ears as he draws back to let his final arrow fly. He gives a satisfied growl as he does so, even as I gasp another breath, my last. I do not allow myself to look down. I do not look away.

And then, in the moment where I have embraced my own end, it is delayed.

I vaguely recognize Aragorn. I force myself back, away from the battle, so I'm lying against a little hill beneath a tree, and listen as he fights, fighting my own pain as I struggle to hold on. I must, just a moment longer…Aragorn must know…he must know what I've done, how I've failed…

There is silence, silence as deep and still as death. Then the sound of the crunch of hurried boots on leaves, coming towards me, and the sound of a sword being set aside. He is there now, beside me. Aragorn has triumphed where I have failed. But I cannot think on that, I must tell him. I must use my last strength to tell him…"They took the little ones!" I gasp out, and every word is full of anguish, for there is no longer any end to the pain, from the arrow wounds and from my heart. He must save them, where I could not. He must not abandon them.

"Hold still," he tells me. But I cannot. My own death is coming, and not even Aragorn's healing hands can delay it any longer.

"Frodo…" I continue. "Where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go." Even in this he succeeds where I could not. If only I could have seen his strength sooner, allowed him to aid me…perhaps I would not have fallen so far. Now all is darkness, stretching out as far as I can see. "Then you did what I could not." I say, "I tried to take 

the Ring from him." And there, in that moment, I curse my weakness, as surely as I curse the trinket that I yearned for. And I yearn for it still, in part of my heart, though I hate it all the more as I desire Aragorn's forgiveness. I shall never see Frodo again, to gain it from him…he is gone now, gone into the fires of Mordor, from which he shall never return.

"The ring is beyond our reach, now." Aragorn says, as he tries to calm me.

"Forgive me," I gasp, feeling the need to keep speaking, to fight against the darkness that is trying to claim me. "I did not see. I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor." Aragorn is reaching for the arrows, ready to fight to save my life, and I push his hand aside with all the strength I have left. But my mind is only with Merry and Pippin. They are taken, and I am already lost. They…my Merry and Pippin…they may yet be saved!

"Leave it," I tell him, for I know aid is futile. "It is over." My voice breaks as I force the words out through my pain, and in them all the agony of my heart is expressed. "The race of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin." And I see Minas Tirith suddenly, her great gate cast down, burning, fallen. My people lie dead within her walls; my own brother stares back at me with lifeless eyes. It is agony to see these things, to know that I shall never see my city or my brother again. Love wells up within me at his face, accompanied by a deep yearning for my people. Yet my scattering thoughts are interrupted by a voice, Aragorn's, and I pull myself back, force myself to fight a little longer.

"I do not know what strength is in my blood," he swears to me, and his very tone speaks of one making an unbreakable oath. "But I swear to you. I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail."

"Our people." I gasp out, and in spite of everything, my pain and fear and failure, I feel a slight smile coming to my face. Such hope then, flooding through me, banishing all else for a sweet moment, all too brief, where I see the nobility and the strength in the face before me, looking down upon me with weeping eyes. I hate myself now, for the brash words I spoke at the Council of Elrond, so long ago now. _Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king._ How wrong I was! Here, at this last moment, Aragorn has offered me something that I needed above all else. "Our people." I gasp again, even as I reach out, my hand blindly seeking my sword. It seems vaguely important, somehow, that I meet death with it in my hand, though I no longer have the strength to know why. Such hope… He lays my weapon in my hand and I clutch it to my chest. There is so much to say, but the darkness is coming, and I know there is no more time. No time to give messages to him for my brother and my father, no time to tell him more than several simple words. It is an effort even to say them, but I must. It is important that I do so now, at my end, for I shall never be able to do as I so desire now.

"I would have followed you, my brother," I have to pause, take several gasping breaths, but my eyes never leave his.

"My captain…" So close…its coming…

"My King."


End file.
